It was all too familiar. The smoke lingering in the air, the enveloping cacophony of high pitched rings and chimes, the flickers of neon lights that winked from every corner. They had told me never to return here. The clerk gave me a knowing smile when he slowly slid the token across the counter.
So familiar it was between my fingers.
I stood, watching. Them, the happy, the sad, the hopeful, the hopeless, the inebriated.
I flicked the chip over and over again with my fingertips. A habitual trait.
One more chance.
Just. One. more.
With a burst of courage I cantered over to the table, sat down at the stall and tapped on the table with my one and only chip. The woman beside me gasped as she looked at the number. I pushed it forward with my scarlet lacquered finger tips.